


To The End, And After

by Cephy



Series: To The End... [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Ass-Kicking, Crowe Altius Lives, Fix-It of Sorts, Friendship, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Not Completely A Fix-It, Nyx Ulric Lives, Revenge, Snark, Survivor Guilt, War, allies to friends to lovers, drunken honesty, mostly canon-compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2020-12-31 21:28:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21152477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cephy/pseuds/Cephy
Summary: Insomnia falls. Everything else comes after.





	1. Insomnia

**Author's Note:**

> How did I manage to start shipping two characters that not only never share screen time but don't even appear in the same media? HOW?

***Nyx***

It was the scorch marks that gave them away, in the end.

Scratches and bruises were easy to explain away. A cut? Some foolhardy pickpocket or especially aggressive protestor. Even regular burns could have been waved off as a kitchen accident if one was willing to be teased about it mercilessly afterwards.

But Crowe was particularly fond of lightning. And the marks left by a lightning spell were hard to erase without the kind of potions that were more expensive than those issued to 'glaives on City duty. 

So when Nyx happened upon Luche sporting some rather _distinctive_ burns, deep in a tense conversation with the Captain that cut off as soon as the two noticed Nyx’s presence, that was curious enough to note. It was enough to raise suspicion when Crowe came up missing. It was enough to make them rally everyone they could trust and start a charge towards the Citadel when Crowe came staggering back to them, battered and furious and leaning heavily on the shoulder of some terrified farmer who had found her at the bottom of the cliff she'd been pushed off of and left for dead.

It wasn’t enough to stop the Empire from ruining everything. But hey, what else was new.

***Cor***

Insomnia was burning, and no one was answering their _fucking_ phones.

Cor hung up without leaving a message - if the first three weren't enough to get Drautos' attention, more wouldn't help - and kept running as he dialed again.

Part of a building collapsed in front of him, and for a moment he was too busy dodging falling concrete and glass to notice that the dial tone had clicked over. He made it through to the open street beyond, then the voice that came over the line almost made him trip anyway. "_Cor_."

"I'm on my way," he said, not bothering with pleasantries. There was no time; Insomnia was burning, and he was too far away to do any good. "Get to the southeast extraction point, I can-"

"_No, Cor. The Citadel is lost; evacuate the city and get out yourself_."

"Like hell I-"

"_You won’t get here in time, old friend_," Regis said quietly, and Cor stopped dead in his tracks, right there in the middle of the street as the building behind him continued to topple and yet another enemy ship roared by overhead. Behind Regis’ voice, Cor could just barely hear Clarus yelling, doors slamming, boots beating hard and fast on polished stone floors. "_Save as many as you can, save yourself, then find Noctis. Tell him-- set him on the path towards the Armiger. That is your duty now_."

"Regis—"

"_Go, Marshal. Six watch and guide you_." 

The line went dead.

For what felt like ages, Cor didn't move - phone at his ear, eyes focused far ahead to where the Citadel stood surrounded by the Empire's forces. To where he should have been, by all rights, on the day they welcomed their long-time enemies into their home, where he _would_ have been if his King hadn't sent him off on some bullshit excuse of a mission. He'd know it was bullshit, they all had, because what it came down to was simply that the Empire wouldn't look kindly on his presence. That having _Cor the Immortal_ at the signing was basically giving the Niffs an excuse to take offense and start trouble.

Naïve of them to have thought that the Niffs would wait for an excuse, rather than just betray them all outright.

Cor breathed out hard, lowered his phone, and turned his back on the Citadel. The collapsing building was nearly all down; several cars had been partially buried under rubble just to one side, and he could see the shape of hands pressed on the windows, clawing at the cracks in the doors.

He'd start there.

***Nyx***

Nyx clearly remembered the first time he saw the Marshal of the Crownsguard. Marshal Leonis was a legend, even among the 'glaive - and for a member of the Crownsguard, that was a feat in and of itself - so it was hard not to have a little bit of hero worship going on there without ever meeting the man. The name alone was enough to give a person delightful shivers. _Cor the Immortal_. 

Nyx had still been fairly new at the time, just a little baby ‘glaive, cocky and loud as he came into the training hall with Libertus and the rest of his squad, having every intention of showing off just how good he was getting with warping. But instead finding of an empty training hall, they had piled through the door and instinctively snapped to attention as they noticed Captain Drautos in the center of the floor, squared off against someone Nyx didn't recognize. The guy didn't look like much - average build, plain sword, nothing to speak of compared to the intimidating figure of their Captain.

"Oh, this’ll be good," Libertus had muttered, and then the lot of them plastered themselves against the wall to watch. 

Nyx's eyes had been fixed on his Captain - he’d seen Drautos training some of the senior 'glaives in drills, but had never seen him actually spar, so Nyx was eager for the chance to see him in action. He was watching Drautos so closely that he completely failed to see the other man move - the stranger was simply _there_ all of a sudden, blade far too close to Drautos' throat. And then he was _everywhere_, faster than anyone had a right to move without warping, uncannily precise for someone swinging around a blade that long. He made the undeniably skilled Drautos look clumsy in comparison. There was no waste to the stranger's movement, he absorbed and deflected Drautos' powerful strikes like they were weightless and responded with fluid, brutal grace.

By the time the two opponents stepped back and lowered their weapons, Nyx had stars in his eyes and a belly full of lustful admiration. The stranger nodded once to Drautos and said something too quiet to overhear, then disappeared through the opposite door without ever acknowledging their audience.

Someone slapped Nyx's arm to get him moving, and he absently followed the rest as they slipped back out into the hallway. "Who the hell was that?" he said once they were clear. "He’s not 'glaive."

Crowe looked at him like he had two heads. "Who was - are you kidding me? That was _the Immortal_."

Wide-eyed, Nyx whipped his head back around the way they had come, as if he could still see the man there – Cor the freaking Immortal, apparently, even though he wasn’t actually ten feet tall and wielding five swords at once. "Seriously?"

Libertus started laughing. "Oh no, I know that look."

"What look? There’s no look."

"You’ve got a crush on a Crownsguard, I am never letting this go."

"Not a crush," Nyx protested. But he was grinning, still craning his head around to stare back towards the training hall, even as his squad rolled their eyes and herded him onward. And the excitement in his blood couldn't really be denied - at what, exactly, he wasn't sure, maybe the prospect of a good opponent, the clear display of skill, the blaze of the man’s eyes in his impassive face as he fought - did it really matter? “Maybe a small case of hero worship, but not a crush.”

"Same difference. Still a Crownsguard."

"Nobody’s perfect."

They had all teased him for a while, and then it had blown over. They didn’t see the Marshal around the training hall again, since the ‘guard and the ‘glaive didn’t exactly work together. And there was too much to do with training and then deployment and finally the long, dragged-out, bloody mess of a war to dwell too long on one overseen sparring match, no matter how impressive it had been.

Still, Nyx had never fully forgotten that moment. So on the day the city fell - the day their Captain turned out to be a dirty, dirty traitor and they became a Kingsglaive without a king, the day Nyx found himself coming out of a long, dark tunnel with a splitting headache and what felt like an entire herd of garulessa leaning on him - it wasn't hard to recognize the man leaning over him, even if it was possibly the last person he expected to see.

Nyx was blinking slowly at the sky, listening to Libertus yelling somewhere beyond the ringing in his ears - concussion, maybe? He loved those - when someone started shifting the debris that had him pinned. Nyx gritted his teeth and tried very hard not to yell as the biggest piece rolled free; felt the pressure and snap against his skin that preceded the cool wash of a potion’s relief, not enough to make all of the pain go away but enough that the ringing faded and he felt like he might actually be able to stand, and his vision cleared— 

And it was a half-familiar, half-remembered face leaning over him, not really looking _at_ him but focused intently on levering Nyx to sitting and moving the last of the debris away from his legs. Marshal Leonis, looking about as dusty and tired and wrung out as Nyx himself felt.

The familiar shape of Libertus wedged itself under Nyx's shoulder and levered him upright. "Thanks, Marshal," Libertus said. “We can take it from here.”

Cor nodded once and straightened, started to turn away. "Make for the south gate, I've sent some Crownsguard there already to set up a checkpoint. They'll make sure you're supplied and--"

"No," Nyx heard himself say. "No, we've got to get to the Citadel, to the King--"

"The King is dead," the Immortal said, sharp and brittle as the glass littering the street around them, "and the Citadel has fallen."

For a moment, the words were a vise around Nyx's chest, and the bitterness of failure rose up like acid in his throat. "How," he croaked. Cleared his throat. Clenched his teeth and hissed in a breath as all of that pressure in him swelled up and _burst_. "How did that happen, _Crownsguard_? Isn't keeping royalty alive supposed to be your job?"

He took a wavering step forward, shrugging off the hands that were suddenly trying to hold him back and ignoring Libertus' hissing in his ear of _shut up, Nyx, please shut up_. Cor was like a mythril statue as Nyx did his best to get up in his face; his arms were crossed and his face was set, but his eyes were absolutely _blazing_ with a whole series of emotions that Nyx had no capacity to understand in that moment, not with his own eyes barely focusing and his brain sloshing back and forth between his temples.

Cor stared Nyx down while the rest of the 'glaive held their collective breath and watched, and then he turned away. "South gate," he said over his shoulder as he headed further into the ruins of the city. "Ask for Monica."

For a split second, Nyx swayed in place, almost ready to go after the man and _really_ start a fight, but then Libertus was grabbing his arm and Crowe was on his other side, and both were looking at him like they maybe wanted to shove another building down on his head. In the end, though, Libertus just shook his head. "Come on, Hero. Maybe a few more potions and a nap will make your self-preservation instincts kick in again. Not that you ever had many of those to begin with."

Nyx scowled and whirled on him to say-- something, he wasn't quite sure what it would have come out as, because the motion set his head spinning even worse and sent nausea bubbling up through the acid anger his chest, and everything went a little vague for a while. The next thing he was fully aware of was lying on a cot in a camp of hastily-erected tents. Insomnia was on the horizon, mostly burned out; ash drifted like snow on the wind. The anger that had possessed Nyx before, also mostly burned out, tasted rather like ash in his throat. 

The Crownsguard Monica was a deceptively mild-spoken woman who had the entire makeshift camp running with a tight, brutal efficiency. As soon as Nyx and his squad were reliably on their feet again they found themselves kitted and deployed before Nyx could even wonder if he should question the source of the order.

But hey. There were MTs to destroy, kingdoms to avenge, and errant Princes to protect. Nyx was happy to take orders from even the Crownsguard if it gave him leave to make the Empire _hurt_.

It was only fair to return that particular favour. 

Nyx was looking forward to it. 


	2. Duscae

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pls note updated tags.

***Nyx*** 

Whatever high-ranking asshole had showed up and lit a fire under the Empire’s collective ass, Nyx _really_ wished he could personally introduce them to his kukris. It had been bad enough right after Insomnia, with MT dropships running grids across the sky and too much wide-open Leiden countryside around them as they scattered. But now, all of a sudden? They were _everywhere_, you couldn’t even count on having space to breathe between one patrol and the next. Nyx’s little squad had barely received the warning to move out before their former position was overrun, and it had been a high-stakes game of hide and seek ever since, following vague orders to draw attention away from certain patches of presumably Prince-infested countryside and do their best not to die in the process.

The constant rain wasn’t making things any more pleasant, either. Whatever cover it granted them while sneaking up on enemy positions, it more than made up for with slippery footing and general discomfort. And the cover of the rain worked against them just as often, as Nyx’s squad found out the hard way when what he’d thought was the roar of yet more thunder turned into a trio of dropships directly overhead.

A piercing whistle marked the order to retreat and scatter; Nyx gratefully broke off from an MT axeman that had just sprouted two friends. He pelted off full speed into the undergrowth, dodging trees and bodies with equal urgency, and kept going until the prickling at the nape of his neck faded a little, until the burning in his lungs and the ache of his injuries forced him into the dubious shelter of a rock ledge where he did his best to stop gasping quite so loudly as he listened for pursuit.

It took a long, long time for him to feel confident enough to start moving again, and even then he darted from cover to cover, staying low, aiming for simple distance until he could find some landmarks and figure out where the hell he was. Three times he had to backtrack and reroute as he came across more MTs – thankfully spotting their milling shapes through the rain before he was close enough to attract their notice – and once he had to run again, eventually wedging himself into the hollow of a tree trunk and all but holding his breath until the patrol that had come up around him moved on.

The sun was sinking by the time he spotted a haven in the distance, and he debated with himself for only a few seconds before deciding the risk was worth it. He was _supposed_ to rendezvous with his squad at one of three designated sites, none of which were as obvious as a haven, but he was exhausted, and the pain in his ribs that had started out as an annoyance was becoming harder and harder to ignore. Even if the Empire’s forces had managed to overcome the haven’s defences and set a trap around the site, it was still his best bet for shelter before he fell down. He could deal with figuring out where the hell he was and how to get back to his people once he was sure he wouldn’t pass out on the way to them.

It took him far too long to notice that there was already a fire glowing at the center of the haven – until he was already up and over the lip of the rock, in fact, well beyond the point where he could have defended himself if the shadowy shape next to that fire had been hostile. So in that sense, recognizing the shape as Marshal Leonis - sitting relaxed with his arm propped on his knees, not even watching Nyx’s approach – should have been a relief.

As soon as Nyx recognized the man, though, he remembered their previous meeting and the icy rush of adrenaline that followed nearly put his battered body on the ground. He’d lashed out like a wounded cactuar on their last encounter, and his conscience had been happy to remind him of that ever since by replaying the look on the Marshal's face, the one Nyx hadn’t had the capacity to recognize at the time - the tiniest little flinch, the split-second crack of _grief_ in the impassive facade. Nyx had drawn blood with his words that day, and sure, he knew that he’d been talking through pain and shock and more than a bit of blood loss, and Leonis certainly knew that too. But still, the Marshal would have been more than justified in holding a grudge, and a grudge from someone like the Immortal was a daunting thing to consider.

Nyx wasn’t sure how long he stood there, staring like an idiot, but eventually Leonis looked over and arched one questioning eyebrow. Nyx shook himself and reluctantly dragged his feet forward. "Marshal," he greeted quietly.

"Ulric." Leonis nodded at him and turned back to the fire.

The Marshal’s supplies barely took up any space; there was plenty of room left in the haven for a suite of tents, never mind Nyx’s sad little pack. In that much space, Nyx could have easily avoided the man, but damn it, he was no coward. So after he'd shrugged off his gear he stepped closer to the fire and cleared his throat. "Marshal, I owe you an apology."

Leonis huffed out a breath and shook his head. "It's fine. Lot of tempers running high that day," he said, squashing whatever vague hope Nyx might have had that the man had just-- forgotten. That it hadn’t been as big a deal as Nyx suspected it was.

"Still," Nyx said quietly. "I was way out of line, and I'm sorry."

Leonis finally turned to face Nyx fully. The firelight cast sharp shadows along his cheekbone, brought out odd ice-pale highlights in his eye. For that moment, he looked fey and fierce and not entirely human. And then Nyx blinked and he was just a man again, with tired creases around his eyes. Leonis studied Nyx, weighing, for just long enough that Nyx started to sweat under that stare. "Apology accepted," Leonis finally said. "Now sit down before you fall down. You look like shit."

Relief had Nyx's answering laugh a little shakier than he intended. "Yes, sir." He took a step back towards his pack, momentarily forgetting his calf injury, and hissed as the pain flared up with the ill-advised shift of weight.

"You injured?" the Marshal’s voice said, instantly.

"Nothing serious."

"Not what I asked."

Nyx took a deep breath before lowering himself down next to the fire, moving slow and doing his best not to just collapse down onto the stone. If he’d been alone, he probably would have been flat by now, but he’d already lost enough face in front of Cor the _freaking Immortal_, he could manage to stay upright for a few more minutes. “Ribs bruised, probably not broken but damned uncomfortable,” he listed off. “Something on my left calf and shoulder that I haven’t had time to look at yet, but clearly I haven’t bled out so they can’t be that bad. About a hundred or so bruises. And my feet hurt, I’ve been running all day.”

“Hm.” The Marshal leaned over and rummaged in his own supplies for a moment, then came out with something that he tossed Nyx’s way – a slow, underhand throw that he made sure Nyx was looking at and prepared for, and Nyx _still_ almost fumbled it with hands that felt too slow and stiff. When he looked down and recognized the shape of the Hi-potion, though, all thoughts of embarrassment slipped his mind and he let out a grateful groan. 

“You’re the best, Marshal.”

He got a faint snort in reply. “Surprised you’re not carrying any yourself.”

“Was. Used ‘em all. Fucking MTs.” Despite the heavy clumsiness in his fingers, Nyx took the extra time to carefully crack open the bottle’s seal and drink it down, not wanting to risk spilling any by doing things the quick way. He gave a grateful sigh as he felt the pain in his ribs ease, and the worst of the sting in his leg. He still hurt – his shoulder, in particular, still pulled like he needed to bandage it – but it was enough relief that exhaustion rolled through in the wake of pain and left him sagging towards the ground.

He made himself choke down a few mouthfuls of something dry and tasteless out of his pack, knowing his body needed the fuel after the potion did its work but too tired to check the label to see what it was he was eating. Chewing became far too much effort very quickly, though, and he just barely managed to roll himself onto his blanket before he passed out.

***Cor***

Cor had planned to head out early the next day, not from any true need so much as the instinct to keep moving. But dawn broke with no sign of movement from his unexpected companion - unsurprising, given how exhausted Ulric had looked when he arrived – so Cor found himself hesitating before packing up the site. 

Havens were still technically safe; the MTs showed a distinct aversion for going anywhere near them. The risk to Ulric was minimal if Cor moved on as planned and left the sleeping ‘glaive behind. Still, it went against all instincts to leave a wounded man alone and undefended. Cor knew that the scattered Kingsglaive had all been working tirelessly since the fall of Insomnia, and Ulric was obviously no exception. It felt like the least Cor could do to keep watch during what looked like the man’s first decent sleep in a week. So instead of tucking his gear into the armiger and setting out, Cor stirred the fire back up and dug out his kit, settling in to work on some repairs to his gear that he'd been putting off and taking the time to put on a real breakfast for once.

Ulric finally stirred when the sun was well overhead, rolling himself stiffly out of his blanket after a couple of false starts. He stopped cold while still half-crouched, though, blinking at Cor fuzzily like he couldn’t quite figure out what he was seeing. Cor had to fight to keep himself from snorting aloud at the poor man’s shock, all the more so because one of Ulric’s braids was twisted up almost vertical over his ear.

Cor broke the tableau by shoving a mug of coffee into Ulric’s hands and staring at him flatly until he lifted it to his mouth. “There’s rice and eggs,” he said then, gesturing to the fire. “Nothing fancy, but it’s hot.”

The wide-eyed, longing look Ulric cast towards the fire as he cradled the mug close was both sad and hilarious. “You really _are_ the best, Marshal, I mean that.”

Cor watched as the ‘glaive shuffled towards the fire, filled a bowl, and tucked in. He watched more closely as Ulric gingerly rolled his shoulder throughout the process, wincing every now and then in a way that didn’t seem like simple stiffness. It was suspicious - a Hi-potion was capable of fixing quite a lot of damage, so either Ulric had lied about how badly he was hurt or he’d been walking around with the injuries for longer than was advisable. Potions always worked best on fresh wounds; if Ulric had been out of supplies so long that his injuries weren’t healing, then Cor needed to get in touch with Monica about revamping their supply depot system because clearly it wasn’t working as intended.

Cor waited until the ‘glaive had finished eating and was sitting with a fresh mug, curled around it with his eyes gone half-closed again like he was about to fall back asleep, then he pulled out his first aid kit and closed the distance. “Let me see that shoulder.”

Ulric looked up, startled into something more like wakefulness. “It’ll be fine—"

“Not a request. Let me see it.”

Ulric huffed, and hesitated, but eventually shucked off his coat and exposed the bloodied gash in the shirt beneath. The wound was scabbed over, but it still looked red and angry, and the top part of it had pulled and bled again at some point recently from the bright red smears still clinging to the surrounding skin. Cor settled behind Ulric to clean and dress the wound, mind automatically matching wound to weapon and playing out the scenarios in his mind – a sword, poorly maintained with an uneven edge, hitting from a high angle; most likely an MT assassin standing right at Ulric’s back. "Clearly I should have been taking a bigger role in the training of the Kingsglaive,” he eventually said, slapping a dressing over the wound. “You let your guard down; they should never have gotten this close.”

It only occurred to him after the words were out that Ulric might take offense – but instead he just sighed. “Yeah. It sometimes still slips my mind that I can’t warp anymore,” he said, mouth twisting up at the corner. “Really inconvenient when that happens mid-battle, let me tell you.”

Realization came with a bite of bitter grief - of course the magic the King gave the ‘glaive would have died with the King – but Cor shunted it aside with an ease that was growing with practice. Then the further implications hit him, and he went cold. “You what?”

Ulric finally seemed to wake up the rest of the way, blinking at Cor’s flat tone and starting to look a bit defensive. “Most of the time I get by just fine, all right? It's just when you’re fighting off an entire squad – and then another squad, and then _another_ one—instinct takes over and I forget that I don't have a convenient way out anymore when I get surrounded. I’ve been doing it for literally my entire career as a ‘glaive; cut me some slack, Marshal, I’ll break the habit eventually.”

"Assuming you don’t die first," Cor said flatly. It shouldn’t have been a surprise; he vaguely remembered Ulric's style as being very flashy, full of risks that others probably would have had second and third thoughts about but which he managed to pull off with deceptive ease. Cor would have thought the man smart enough not to have trained with his magic to the exclusion of everything else, though – Cor himself had drilled endlessly with multiple types of weapons through the years, specifically so that if he was disarmed and needed to improvise, it wouldn’t throw off his reach or balance at a crucial moment.

But he supposed war didn’t always leave time for contingency plans.

Ulric’s expression closed up, angry and embarrassed. “Haven’t so far,” he said, voice clipped tight. He shrugged his tattered coat back into place and started to stand. “If you’ll excuse me, Marshal, I need to be getting back to—”

“No,” Cor heard himself say. “No, you’re staying put until you finish healing, and then you’re sticking with me until I make sure you’re not going to run right out and get yourself killed in the next skirmish.”

Ulric froze, half-standing, and that closed, angry expression broke apart into bafflement. “Uh. What?”

“You heard me. Sit.” Cor allowed himself to take some small pleasure in the way the ‘glaive instantly folded back down to the ground. 

It was probably a mistake – he’d probably regret the decision ten times before the day was through. But there’d been enough death, enough sacrifice on their side. If Cor could keep the cocky little idiot alive a bit longer, then by the Six he was going to do just that.

***Nyx***  
  
Nyx had no real idea how to deal with the fact that _Cor the freaking Immortal_ had apparently appointed himself Nyx's own personal tutor and decided to use all of that considerable prowess to forcefully beat the warping instinct out of him. Surprise attacks were apparently going to be a thing - Nyx wanted to crawl into a hole and hide the first time he landed on his ass with a high-pitched yelp, the Marshal’s sword at his throat and the fresh cup of coffee that Nyx had just thrown halfway across the haven dripping sadly across the stone. He was a trained, skilled, and respected member of the Kingsglaive, damn it. It wasn’t fair how the man made him feel like a raw recruit on his first mission outside the Wall.

Nyx’s primary impression of the Marshal was of someone very—contained. The days he spent in the man’s presence – days that became weeks before Nyx really noticed – only reinforced that impression. Leonis was, as a rule, still and tense and quiet, like a coerl waiting in the brush. He spent a lot of time focused internally on whatever was going through his head, when he wasn’t cutting through monsters and enemies like so much wet paper. For the first few days of their bizarre new partnership, Nyx wasn’t ashamed to admit to himself that he found that incredibly intimidating. He was used to his countrymen and comrades who were all unfailingly larger than life, he had no idea how to deal with someone who gave so little of himself away.

There came a point, though, where Nyx couldn’t take the silence anymore and just _started talking_. About stupid things, random commentary on the scenery, stories that started with “oh man, this reminds me of the time when—”. A big part of him expected that to go very, very badly, but to his surprise the Marshal didn’t shut him down for it. Seemed like he was actually listening, in fact. So Nyx kept going like he was talking to Libertus or Crowe instead and somehow, eventually, that broke the ice between them. 

The first time Cor actually cracked a smile, Nyx felt a bit like he’d won something.

Quite frankly, it was hard to put someone on a pedestal when you’d seen them with bedhead - or when you’d caught them way too early in the morning with a sad, distant look on their face. Cor the Immortal inevitably became Cor the Actual Human, and really it was all downhill from there.

Learning to go without warping was deceptively difficult. On the one hand, Nyx had learned to fight long before he ever had access to magic, and he knew he was good at it – his proficiency with warping wasn’t the _only_ reason he was still alive. But it had certainly helped, and it was frustrating and downright embarrassing to realize just how much he’d come to depend on that trick. When he got taken off guard, when he was forced to fall back on muscle memory, he kept trying to use the same tactic that had once served him so well but now just left him down a weapon and facing Cor’s unimpressed stare from far too close.

It was frustrating – but time and the Marshal’s persistence eventually started to wear away at the ingrained instincts. Nyx drilled more basic forms under Cor’s watchful eye than he had since he’d first joined the Kingsglaive, rebuilding the old foundations of technique. He fended off the Marshal’s surprise attacks until his first instinct stopped being to warp away but rather to parry. They sparred, which quickly became one of Nyx’s favourite things in the world because Cor was _fast_, with no wasted movement, and it pushed Nyx to his limits to keep up. Cor was an utter demon in a fight; as time went on, Nyx just started to find that less worthy of starry-eyed admiration and more like a challenge to meet with everything that he had.  
  
They restocked supply depots, ran messages, and did other low-risk tasks while Nyx’s shoulder healed and he started feeling somewhat human again – amazing what a lack of sleep deprivation could do. Nyx fought off his profound jealousy over the fact that Crownsguard got the equivalent of a magic backpack that carried everything they could possibly ever want – but was happy to take full advantage of having regular meals and blessed, blessed coffee every morning. They left coded messages at every resupply depot and safe camp they passed, which Nyx hoped someone was picking up and passing on to his squad so they’d know he was alive because he was already going to get in so much shit with Libertus whenever their paths crossed again, it would be a hundred times worse if the man thought he was dead the whole time.

As soon as Cor seemed satisfied that Nyx was healed and reasonably competent, they started cutting a swath across Duscae, moving from drop ship to drop ship, encampment to fortress. Raising a stir and then vanishing again. Nyx had thought his people were doing some damage – and they were, no doubt – but Cor on the move was a precision strike waiting to happen, he had an eye for opportunity like no one else Nyx had ever met. The ‘glaive were a smoke screen, they were damage control, moving around drawing attention away from the Prince and taking down whatever MTs they came across as a bonus. Cor was a ghost slipping through the Empire’s defences and hitting them where it hurt.

And now Nyx was a part of that, and it was _bloody spectacular_.

The training wheels came fully off when a fortress ship roared by overhead, low enough to clip the trees. Cor watched it go by with his mouth pinched and his eyes steely; Nyx watched Cor, and waited for the plan.

They went in at dusk after two days of careful scouting. The fortress was still new enough to have some tactically-significant holes in its outer walls, which they were happy to take full advantage of. The entire thing was still a maze of electrified gates and searchlights, and was crawling with MTs on top of that, but the two of them ran right in and for Nyx it was like the whole situation just _clicked_ all of a sudden, like Nyx could read Cor’s movements, anticipate his tactics, cover his back and trust that Cor was covering his in return. They tore through the base in a swift, coordinated attack, darting in and out of cover, circling around each other, and left nothing but carnage behind them. Nyx didn’t try to warp, didn’t even think about it or have to catch himself even once, and it felt so _good_ that Nyx couldn’t hold in a whoop of victory when they were through. Cor just looked back at him with his eyes alight, wearing a smile that made him look like the world’s smuggest voretooth.

Nyx couldn’t help but think that they made a _really_ good team.

  
***Cor*** 

It felt like a damned long time since Cor had spent enough time behind friendly lines, with enough friendly faces around, that he could actually relax. The Empire was everywhere; nowhere was safe – except maybe when the entire outpost was overrun with Kingsglaive and Crownsguard and the nearest Imperial fortress was a smoking ruin. If there was anything like safety under the current circumstances, that was probably it.

That feeling of relative safety was the only explanation Cor had for why, when Nyx knocked on his hotel room door wearing a challenging smile and carrying a bottle of something that undoubtedly tasted like engine coolant and kicked like an ornery chocobo, Cor actually stepped back and let him inside.

Nyx had been gone the better part of the day having a long-overdue reunion with his ‘glaive comrades, and Cor had expected him to stay away until they deployed again – or maybe just not come back at all. Their little arrangement had already lasted far longer than Cor ever expected it would, and Nyx was well beyond the point of needing retraining. It would have been fully reasonable for Nyx to want to go back to his squad and run missions with the rest of the ‘glaive, rather than running hellbent around the continent in Cor’s wake.

So maybe relief had something to do with it as well, when he stepped back and let Nyx into his room, although Cor wasn’t willing to reflect on that for long.

Nyx poured them each a glass, and they toasted silently before tossing it back. The silence lasted for a while longer as both of them caught their breath, after.

“If you wanted to poison me,” Cor said once he’d recovered, “you could have just let that hundlegs hit me the other day. I think I’d have enjoyed it more.”

“I’ll be sure to pass on your compliments to Crowe,” Nyx shot back with a shit-eating grin, refilling both glasses and tossing his back again with barely a grimace – clearly the result of much practice. He looked smugly amused, probably at Cor’s expense, so clearly the boy had no understanding that this sort of rotgut had been a staple of both ‘guard and ‘glaive for decades, and Cor had consumed more than his fair share of it over the course of his career.

Cor settled further into his chair and downed his second shot without flinching and without breaking eye contact. Nyx’s smile was a little sharper, a little more wary as he refilled them again, but no less eager for the challenge than it ever was.

They toasted to the Prince, to the ‘glaive and the ‘guard – silently raised a glass for the King and for Insomnia, which inevitably led to reminiscing once the initial somber moment had passed. Cor was _almost_ able to think about their lost home without that tight, bitter ache taking over his chest. He was at least able to participate when Nyx started into stories of the Citadel and the City and the people that used to reside in both, rather than having his words utterly abandon him like they had in the early days.

Somehow, once enough of the bottle had passed, they ended up on the day the City fell. Nyx’s voice was sharp with old anger as he finally talked about facing down Drautos – _Glauca_ \- and their own damned comrades turned against them, about failing to hold the line despite their best efforts. It was easy to tell that the failure still stung fiercely, and Cor shook his head, cutting off the beginnings of recrimination before Nyx was more than a few words in. “Drautos was never what we thought he was. He hid from me, too, and the King, _and_ Clarus, and everyone else who might have figured him out. He had time to plan and prepare, and you were reacting after the fact. You can’t possibly be to blame for not somehow coming out ahead.”

Nyx blinked at him for several breaths, looking wide-eyed and probably far more vulnerable in that moment than he realized; something in Cor’s chest puffed up protectively, but he swatted it back down. 

Nyx swallowed audibly. “Thanks, he said, in a small voice, then cleared his throat. “So, yeah, I guess that’s where you came in, hm? Captain Traitor buried us under a building and then you know the rest.” Some of the tension leached out of him, so that his laugh almost sounded natural. “I swear Libertus was about to finish me off when I started running my mouth at you, though. I’m still sorry about that.”

It was Cor’s turn to fall silent for a moment, before his mouth opened seemingly of its own volition. “You weren't wrong, you know."

Nyx made a wordless sound of inquiry, focused on keeping his hands steady as he poured them both another round.

"Crownsguard," Cor said, with no small amount of bitterness. It wasn’t what he wanted to say, it wasn’t where he intended the conversation to go, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. He really hadn’t thought he was that drunk. "It was our job to protect the King. _My_ job."

Nyx’s head snapped up. "Cor, if I don't get to blame myself for not taking Glauca down hard enough to keep him down, you don't get to do it over not single-handedly stopping the entire Imperial army."

"Wouldn't have been able to stop them," Cor heard himself agree, right out loud like an idiot, "but I still should have been there."

Nyx let a moment of brittle silence hang between them. "That," he eventually said, "sounds an awful lot like wishing you'd died with them, which is not fucking allowed, so that had better not be what you meant."

Cor blinked at Nyx, taken aback by the force of his angry stare – enough that he was able to regain control of his mouth and take a moment to compose an answer. 

There had been one moment right at the beginning, a moment of weakness that he preferred not to think about, when the grief had risen up sharp enough to choke him and it had suddenly seemed so much easier to just-- _stop_. Maybe, in that moment, just for a heartbeat, he’d wished for something like what Nyx suggested. But he'd ended that train of thought quickly, because he _was_ Crownsguard and there was a Prince out there trying to save them all with mystical crap that Cor hardly understood even after all this time, with nobody to guard his back but a bunch of kids. Regis hadn't given Cor the information he needed to help, before, hadn't _let_ him help, and _damn him_ for that, but all Cor could do was move forward. 

He hadn't let himself think those kinds of thoughts again, not while there was a mission to fulfil. And it seemed that time did heal, because looking back on it, finally – the grief wasn’t quite so choking anymore. Even if he could stop, now, it didn’t sound quite so appealing.

“No,” he said slowly. “That’s not what I meant.” He pretended not to see Nyx’s shoulders relaxing. “It’s just that I should have been there, and I wasn’t, and they died without me even though it was my duty to keep them safe. How do you stop that from feeling like the worst kind of failure, even if you know it wouldn’t have made any difference in the end?”

Nyx made a soft sound of understanding. "Why were you out of the Citadel?” he asked after a few beats of silence. “I would have expected the King to keep you close."

Cor made a low, frustrated sound and reached for his glass. “Regis made up some excuse to keep me out of the way, I don’t even remember what it was.” He breathed through the lingering bitterness once again, the shook his head. “He knew what was coming. He must have. If you’d seen the look on his face that day – he gave me that assignment like it was some act of mercy. And I bet he considered doing the same to Clarus, except that he knew Clarus would have laughed in his face and stayed anyway.” Cor had always been a good little soldier, in comparison. He might not have liked the order, but he followed it, and now he was alive and Clarus was dead.

Cor still vividly remembered how it was to stand in the middle of the street and be ordered to ignore his life-long duty. Could still feel the bitterness over being kept from his King’s side where he belonged, and the furious, impotent anger at Regis' scheming and secrets - the grief as he turned away, knowing full well that two of his oldest friends would soon be dead behind him, amongst the ruins of their lives. He had come far enough and was honest enough with himself to admit that he was _fucking pissed_ at his dead King for doing that to him. For ensuring that Cor was left behind to run himself ragged picking up the pieces, while doing shit-all to change his own fate.

Nyx made a _hunh_ sound. “I never met Lord Amicitia, but if his kid is anything like him then that sounds about right.”

Cor snorted. “He and Gladiolus were far too alike. And they could fight like demons because of it.”

Nyx snorted right back. “That’s family for you. My sister—” He cut off abruptly, looking startled and a little pained, then cleared his throat, tossed back his latest glassful and made a face. “You know,” he went on after a moment, “for all that Insomnia never really felt like _home_, I still spent almost as much of my life there as I did in Galahd. So that’s two places the Empire’s taken away from me.” 

Cor breathed out slowly through his nose, saying nothing – because there was nothing to say. Platitudes were worthless, he wasn’t about to make promises that he knew he might not be able to keep, and nothing anybody could say could rewind time and change events so that they hadn’t all lost practically everything. 

In the end he just reached out and refilled their glasses, holding his up in silent request. Nyx’s mouth was twisted in something not quite a smile, but he clinked his glass to Cor’s and nodded at him, just once, before they both drank and then settled in to determinedly finish the bottle.

***Nyx***

As it turned out, Nyx never really had gotten over that great big hero-crush, it had just gotten buried over the years. It was easy as anything for it to dust itself off and come out of hiding while Nyx was fighting side by side with Cor, travelling with him, setting up camp with him night after night at the same havens. Cor was even more impressive as a person than he had ever been as a legend. If Nyx had thought his little crush was hard to ignore when it was just distant admiration, it was becoming impossible now that he actually interacted with the man and had, on one very memorable occasion, seen him naked when they mis-timed their turns bathing in a nearby pond.

He was starting to have to catch himself from being casually physical with Cor – from touching his arm or slinging an arm over his shoulders, like Nyx would do with Libertus or his other friends. Which would have been bad enough on its own, but he also found himself wanting to curl up against Cor as they settled down to sleep, to sit right next to him at their evening campfires so that their hips and calves were pressed together. He wanted to be able to pull Cor into an embrace when they met up again after the rare occasions they had to work apart – or even better, to not have to work apart from Cor in the first place. Most of what Nyx was imagining wasn’t even about sex, apparently, and that was the realization that made Nyx conclude that maybe he was starting to get in over his head.

It would be a bad idea to pursue Cor, Nyx tried to convince himself one night as he kept watch. He glanced down, to where Cor himself was rolled into a blanket not an arm’s length away, sleeping deep and trusting in Nyx’s presence despite the lack of any haven’s protection around them that night. Nyx sighed. _Probably_ a bad idea.

No, almost certainly. Worst-case scenario: Cor wasn't interested and told Nyx to get lost, their remarkable new partnership came to a sudden and tragic end, and Nyx went slinking back to his fellow 'glaives with something that bore a remarkable resemblance to a broken heart. Nyx had never really been a fan of self-sacrifice when it came to this sort of thing but it really did seem better to keep his mouth shut and try to be satisfied with what they had than to risk tipping that particular boat. Being just Cor’s partner in the field had to be better than having nothing of him at all.

Nyx’s gaze lingered on Cor’s face above the edge of the blanket, traced over the faint furrow between his brows that never really went away. On the other hand - best case scenario was what they had now, with the addition of a lot of sex. Possibly mind-blowing sex, if Cor's signature intensity was anything to go on. Or even if not – hell, even if they were stuck in the wilderness forever and couldn’t risk taking their clothes off, they could still _touch_ each other, and clearly touch was something that Nyx was starting to itch for after so long. Surely Cor had to be feeling the lack too; something told Nyx that _casual contact_ had not been so much a part of the Marshal’s life even before Insomnia fell, but humans were social animals and Cor was, despite the rumours, fully human.

Nyx stared for a few moments longer, then nodded once and turned his attention back out into the dark, where it belonged. What the hell. The world was already ending. If the worst came to pass, at least Nyx wouldn't be alive for much longer to regret it.

***Cor***

If pressed, Cor would admit right out loud that he enjoyed Nyx’s company. He’d spent a lot of time by himself over the years, since there weren’t many who could keep up with him or even wanted to try. But Nyx was doing a good job with that so far. He was impressive – could be downright vicious in a fight, which was a quality that Cor appreciated a bit more than he knew he should, on some levels. It was nice to have someone there when it otherwise felt like he was alone behind enemy lines, and Nyx was good company, didn’t expect Cor to hold up an equal part of the conversation all the time but also didn’t feel the need to fill every silence himself. He listened with an easy, warm attention when Cor did decide to talk. It was—nice. Very nice.

Cor had known that Nyx was fearless, and determined, and apparently intent on making them into something like friends. Still, it was somehow a surprise when Nyx just stopped one night while they were sitting together at the haven’s fire, looked at him narrow-eyed and thoughtful – and then leaned over to kiss him.

The contact went through him in a jolt. By the time Cor finished blinking off his surprise, Nyx had pulled back and was looking at him closely again, a hopeful little half-smile on his lips. “I considered flirting,” he said. “You know, take a slow approach, work up to this. But then I figured hey, life is short. Plus, this way I’m pretty sure there’s no way to misinterpret what I’m proposing here. So, I’m going to do that again, okay? If you don’t want me to, now would be the time to say so.”

Nyx leaned in, slowly. Cor stayed where he was, and closed his eyes when Nyx’s lips touched his again.

His mind was, of course, running a hundred miles an hour throughout, letting him know just how bad an idea it was to be letting this happen. Getting distracted by something like this in the middle of a war was likely to be disastrous. Nyx was— not young, but _younger_, he made Cor feel like an old man sometimes in comparison. Cor himself wasn’t the sort to make a good partner for someone, he was well aware that could be moody and irritable and very much _not_ the picture painted by his reputation. Too many people let themselves get swept away by the legend and never saw the man beneath until it was too late. Monica had always claimed that half the Citadel was in love with him – but Cor thought it was more that they loved the _idea_ of him; it had been enough to put him off pursuing relationships even on the exceptionally few occasions when he’d had the time.

Nyx hadn’t seemed to care about _the Immortal_ in a long time, though, and he’d spent enough time around Cor to have witnessed his character flaws in action. He was also dangerous and graceful and deadly - which was, Cor had to admit, exactly his type – and he was beautiful, yes, of course Cor had _noticed_. So even as the doubts circled, he was leaning into Nyx, letting Nyx settle them snugly against each other and thread their fingers together. Nyx arched into him and made a muffled, pleased sound, scratching the fingers of his free hand across Cor’s scalp to send another shiver of contact racing through them both. 

And maybe none of Cor’s doubts mattered so much, since they could both be dead tomorrow. With everything in shambles, Cor definitely understood the soldier’s urge to find comfort and joy where one could. Even if that was all Nyx wanted – hard to tell, so far; they would probably have to talk about expectations and boundaries and all sorts of things.

Just-- _later_.


	3. World of Ruin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kept trying to brainstorm more scenes for this section, but none of them seemed to fit so instead we have a fairly short ending chapter. Hopefully it doesn’t feel too abrupt. There may be some added ‘bonus’ scenes at a later date, if I decide to salvage any of the discarded ideas.
> 
> Having now actually played the Kingsglaive spin-off game I should probably add that this fic is… not fully canon-compliant with that, but not too far off the mark.

***Nyx***

When the world ended, they all gravitated together slowly, pale-faced survivors huddling in the light.

Nyx found Libertus in a battered, three-storey building off the main street that was half home and half headquarters. Libertus made a good show of his usual humour, but he held on just a bit too long and tight when Nyx came in for a welcome, and he had the same shocky grey tinge to his skin that everyone seemed to have since the darkness fell. “Come on in, Hero. There’s not much room left but I’m sure we can find you a piece of floor to camp on.”

Nyx hesitated for a heartbeat before deciding to just go for it. “Actually, it’s fine, I’m going to keep bunking with Cor.”

Libertus blinked, then fixed him with a sharp gaze. “With _Cor_.”

Nyx blinked back at him placidly. “Yep.”

Libertus was not a stupid man, no matter what some had thought of him back in the city. Moreover, he’d known Nyx for far too long not to have learned how to read him like a book. So despite Nyx’s bland expression it was only moments before Libertus was groaning and rubbing a hand over his face. “Only you, Nyx. Only you would end up in bed with the Immortal in the middle of—”

“Don’t call him that,” Nyx heard himself cut in, sharper than he intended. He winced back from Libertus’ wide-eyed look. “It’s not—look, if he can hear you, at least, please don’t use that name.”

“Sure thing,” Libertus said slowly, and Nyx could once again see the gears turning behind his eyes. “Anyway, uh, at least come in for a drink, say hi to everyone? Let Crowe tease you for a bit, take the pressure off the rest of us.” He pointed a finger in Nyx’s face as they closed the door behind them, as the voices speaking Galahdian from up the stairs raised to a laughing roar that caught at something in Nyx’s chest. “You are _not_ vanishing back out into the wilds again - neither of you, I guess. Not much point in going chasing after Niffs anymore, so we’re setting up a patrol schedule, trying to figure out the best way to escort people between outposts and get supplies around. We need the help, so you’re helping.”

“Yes sir, Captain,” Nyx said with a slanted grin and a sloppy salute, and he had the pleasure of seeing Libertus’ jaw drop. 

“What? No, that’s— I’m not—“

“Someone’s got to do it. I can think of worse people for the job.” Leaving Libertus gaping at the door, Nyx slid past him and followed the voices, eager to see the faces of those still with them, already aching for the faces that would be missing.

By the time he tracked down Cor, much later, the man had claimed them a tiny closet of a room over the subdued remains of the Lestallum marketplace, with barely enough space for the mattress but a private bathroom that more than compensated. The prospect of even a weak, lukewarm shower on a regular basis sounded like heaven, after so long out running around where there was no running water at all. 

It was amazing what being clean and having an actual bed did for his sex life, even with the entire world going to shit around them. 

There were still missions to run and demons to kill and supplies to deliver. They were still out in the wilderness on a regular basis, and the wilderness had grown new teeth since the sun went down for good. But it was enough, for the time being, to know that tiny, vague sense of _home_ was there waiting when they got back. To know that there would be a big house full of sound and warmth off the main street, and a tiny room where he could have Cor’s skin against his and both of them would be safe and comfortable. Nyx was pragmatic enough to take the silver linings where he could get them.

It was cold, without the sun. Not the deep freeze of winter - by some lingering luck or grace it never got that bad - but a stagnant kind of chill that sank its teeth into Nyx’s bones and wouldn’t let go. It never rained, or snowed. There was never any wind. It felt like all the life had been leached out of the world.

The ‘glaive and ‘guard effectively merged, and came to an agreement with the hunters. Libertus eventually stopped giving Cor wide-eyed, sidelong looks whenever they were in the same room. The engineers ran training workshops so everyone knew how to repair the lighting systems, just in case. They rationed food and water. They grew pale and thin beneath the endless glow of artificial lights.

Things changed, and remained the same. The sun failed to rise. They continued on, regardless. 

***Cor***

It was at the end of a very long month when Nyx finally broke. Cor couldn’t necessarily say he’d been waiting for it, but he did spend a hell of a lot of time with Nyx and was fairly confident that he’d come to know the man’s tells. Nyx had been tense and snappish and moody for days; something had been bound to give, eventually.

Unsurprisingly, it was something minor that set it off. When Cor’d had his own little breakdown, somewhere around their second year into the long dark, it had been over something as stupid as his pen breaking. Not the three times they'd gotten themselves surrounded by demons, not the loss of half their food supplies, not the failed protections on their planned campsite. Not the night sky that never, ever brightened into dawn. Just a broken pen, and suddenly Cor was sitting on the floor of an abandoned Crow’s Nest, holding it in both hands and feeling so tired that he couldn’t even raise his head when Nyx came looking for him.  
  
Everything blurred together in the unending darkness. Cor figured they’d been out for almost a month, protecting a camp of workers as they reinforced and fortified the main power lines, while demons did their best to sabotage the process. But honestly, it could have been more – Cor found that time had become a very fluid thing, and that wasn’t helped by the work camp running shifts twenty-four hours straight. 

When the work was finally done, and the whole crew made the harrowing run to the nearest outpost, Cor laid claim to one of the caravans and didn’t even bother with a shower, just stripped off his filthy gear and pulled on the one set of clean clothes he’d been saving for that exact purpose before falling bonelessly onto the bed.

Nyx went into the tiny bathroom, and he didn’t come back out.

When the constant sound of running water finally penetrated the weary fog around his thoughts, Cor heaved himself back up with a groan and followed the sound to find Nyx standing in front of the mirror with his eyes far too wide and one trembling hand lifted to side of his head where his close-cut, traditional hairstyle had grown out into an unrecognizable mess. 

Cor took in the wild expression, the way Nyx’s breath was catching a bit on each inhale, and sighed. He reached past Nyx to shut off the tap, then pulled the man away from the mirror and back out into the main area of the caravan - considered the single chair in the kitchenette, briefly, before maneuvering Nyx instead until he was sitting on the floor next to the bed. Cor grabbed their shaving kit out of the pile of gear next to the door before moving to sit behind Nyx, tucking his legs in close to the man’s sides. 

Cor flipped open the straight razor and began to carefully shear down the hair on the sides of Nyx’s head, one easy pass at a time, just like he’d seen Nyx do a hundred times, the smooth repetitive motions leaving just a short buzz behind. Nyx was iron-tense to start, but he eventually shivered and closed his eyes, leaning into Cor, stilling the trembling in his hands by pressing them hard against Cor's calves.

When he was done, Cor brushed the loose hair to the floor and wrestled them both up onto the surface of the bed where he pressed himself against Nyx’s back until eventually the last of the tension drained away and Nyx slept.   
  
Cor blinked his eyes open when Nyx slipped from the bed, some unknowable time later, and vanished once again into the bathroom. He was gone for long enough that Cor shoved himself upright and made for the kitchen – but he wasn’t silent this time, Cor stretched his ears until he heard the shower start, the clatter and scrape of someone setting about their business. 

Nyx came out scrubbed clean, freshly shaven and with his braids re-done, and walked right up to Cor where he was cobbling together their breakfast, although he wouldn’t quite meet Cor’s eyes as he chewed on the corner of his lip, visible searching for words. Cor let him get away with it for about three seconds before sighing loudly and reaching out to palm the side of Nyx’s head - feeling the short hair as a prickle against his hand - and pulling him in to press his lips against Nyx’s temple. 

Nyx huffed, but his arms snaked around Cor’s waist and held them close together. “Sorry,” he muttered.

“You’re not above being human, Ulric.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Nyx grumbled back, the corners of his mouth curling. “I’ll be sure to remind you of that next time.”

***Nyx***

It felt inevitable that they would end up back in Insomnia. The place was a deathtrap filled with crumbling concrete and fucking _terrifying_ demons that made Nyx long for the days when the worst they’d had to deal with was MTs. But it was where the whole mess started, the focal point of the Empire’s obsession and the gaping wound that still ached in most of them despite all the time that had passed. So it was fitting, really, that it also be where they dug in and made their final stand. 

Nyx was off with Crowe and her team on a deep dive into some old tunnels when their King returned. They missed the whole thing, just came out of the underground into the light and blinked up at the sky while their eyes watered and burned like—well. Like they’d been in the dark for an entire decade. It was glorious, and beautiful, and it shook Nyx to his core because he just _knew_ that the world had changed again when he wasn’t looking. The pessimistic part of him was terrified to think of what that change might have cost them this time.

Eventually they shook off the shock and raced back to base, which was all but empty. One of the remaining staff mentioned the Citadel, so off they ran again.

They found Cor looking pale and drawn and so damned tired that it made Nyx ache for him, wrapped in bandages that he would be _explaining later, thank you, Marshal_. They also found the Amicitia kid and the other two from the Prince's retinue sitting off to one side, close enough to touch but each thoroughly in their own world from the silence hanging over them and their complete lack of acknowledgement of the uproar happening around them. Argentum's eyes were red and swollen, and every now and then he'd lift a hand to rub at them reflexively. Amicitia’s broad shoulders were hunched in on themselves to the point where he looked small.

Eventually, Nyx saw the throne room, and it all started to make sense.

It wasn't a conscious choice to sit vigil that first night, but it also seemed inevitable. He definitely wasn't the only one. The sun set, darkness fell, and everyone collectively held their breath as they settled in to wait. 

As the last wash of red faded from the horizon, Nyx perched himself on a crook of stone near the Citadel's doors, warily watching the shift of shadows on the far side of the plaza. The demons had set up a mighty shriek when sunlight started flooding the streets that morning, and no one was entirely sure whether they had just gone to ground or been burned away after that – in theory, the King’s sacrifice should have taken care of them for good, but Nyx had spent too many years fighting to feel comfortable letting his guard down until they’d checked all the shadowed corners and made sure there was nothing hiding there.

He wasn’t at all surprised when he heard the door push open behind him and limping footsteps approach his position. Cor settled into the place Nyx had left for him and leaned in, heavy against his shoulder. 

Together, they waited for the dawn.


End file.
